


Our Lady of Electric Light

by Froggy_Horntail



Category: We Happy Few (Video Game)
Genre: (also canon's less wholly diverted and more like briefly detoured for Acts I and II but eh), (also what happens in Reform Club STAYS in Reform Club), (well of course there's going to be implied/referenced drug use it's WHF), Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Electricity, Electrocution, Erotic Electrostimulation, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Sex Club, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29260485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Froggy_Horntail/pseuds/Froggy_Horntail
Summary: Sally's been having a hell of a time. Between the constabulary riding her about their Blackberry supply, keeping Gwen safe and secret from General Byng, and the disastrously sudden reappearance of Arthur Hastings in her life...well. It's been a lot, to say the least.She swore she'd never go to the Reform Club again after she and Anton Verloc split, even if she did still ply her 'Sally Specials' there to Madame Wanda and her other patrons. But...god, a girl has needs, doesn't she? And with all this stress, surely no one could blame her for wanting one night, just one night, to blow off some steam?But when it rains it pours, doesn't it? Which is why it's terribly unfortunate that she picked the night that a certain someone else was trying to break in to the club to steal Constable Hickenbotham's identification so he can get across the bridge...
Relationships: Sally Boyle/Anton Verloc (mentioned), Sally Boyle/Arthur Hastings
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	Our Lady of Electric Light

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, new fandom.
> 
> A couple weeks ago I picked up We Happy Few during the Steam winter sale, because I remembered when it first came out and how I'd really liked the aesthetic and I'm always a slut for a dystopian story, especially one with strong Bioshock gameplay vibes, and figured that after two to four-ish years maybe they'd ironed out the bugs that I'd heard had been in the utterly disastrous alpha/beta phase.
> 
> Anyway 183 hours and three DLC later, these sad drug-addled Anglos are now living rent free in my head and I refuse to evict them. And this kind of fic was all I could think about while working on the Reform Club quest during Arthur's arc.
> 
> And then I realize god gave me the power of hands, and a word processor, and insomnia, and I'm going to make that everyone else's problem.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy this...porn with a side of feelings, I suppose? Yeah there's actually a lot of feelings. More feelings than porn, I have to admit. The kinds of feelings that should have been communicated if everyone in this game wasn't so fucking drugged-up and sad.
> 
> WHY NO, I'M ABSOLUTELY *NOT* STILL UPSET ABOUT HOW THE ARTHUR AND SALLY SCENES WENT, WHY DO YOU ASK.

This was a bad idea. 

Sally double and triple-checked everything in her house. She'd fed and changed Gwen and put her down for the night, and made sure the automatic feeder was still working correctly just in case she needed it. All the lab equipment was turned off, or at least on low settings for things that couldn't be turned off. The doors were all locked, *properly* locked. She wasn't going to have a repeat incident of the time Spud Murphy broke in and trashed the place looking for drugs.

_Her chest lurched and a cold sweat prickled slightly at her hairline as she remembered him in her room, Gwen sobbing in his clutches, so out of his mind he was convinced she was a hallucination, a rat, a rat that needed to be put down before it bit him. But it was Sally who was the one who put him down, wasn't she, sinking that syringe into his neck; his eyes rolling back in his head-_

She took a breath, eyes closing as she willed herself to retreat from the bad memory and calm back down.

No, that wasn't going to happen. No one was going to get in here without her say so again, she had made sure of it.

Strange, wasn't it? To think she had no qualms about slumming it in the Garden District, wandering among the wastrels when she would sneak out to see the Sisters. Where the Downers would cut you just for looking at them funny.

...Or maybe that was just Wellies in general, now that she thought about it...

And yet, the idea of going back to the Reform Club, a place where she was practically royalty (so long as she kept peddling her Sally Specials there, anyway), is one that just made the anxiety jump up and down her spine.

It certainly wasn't first time jitters. Hell, she used to go all the time with Anton. 

His idea originally. Where she called him 'Dr. Verloc' again, like she had when she'd been his student. Only, you know, that time she was in a sexy little nurse's outfit and not a converted school uniform.

God, the things her mum would have said if she'd known about THAT. It'd been mortifying enough giving the custom order to Mrs. Pankhurst when Anton had first explained the Reform Club's unique...requirements.

Of course, she and the 'good' doctor had split a long time ago, and the General, Robert, her ever so bloody dear _Byng-a-ling_ , he didn't like to do things quite so publicly. Didn't *like* to share his toys, as it were.

So it was just her and her alone this time, locking the doors to the Interplanetary Travel Agency and crossing over Plassey Bridge into Maidenholm. 

Honestly, thank god she couldn't fit into that nurse's uniform anymore. She'd have drawn SO much attention.

...and she was already drawing enough of it as it is.

See, it was close to curfew. The sun had sunk low beneath the houses, and Uncle Jack's face beamed from every telly screen, as he gave his usual spiel about the symptoms of scurvy on tonight's rerun of **_Well, Well, Well!_**

But the bobbies she passed just tipped their helmets to her and gave her their usual polite smiles. Manic and menacing, certainly...but still polite. 

Of course, they were polite now, but if she didn't get them their Blackberry soon, it wouldn't be long before they stopped looking the other way when it came to breaking rules and curfews.

God, she had to get that new batch ready. But her mind kept going a thousand miles a second, and every time she tried to focus on her formulas it all just smeared together, and then Gwen would start crying because she needed something, or the General would come knocking, or some other new fire would have to be put out - often literally, if it was in her lab, or she'd just start thinking about the past, like she did when she saw Arthur in that alley behind the Printing Office, and worrying about him, and Gwen, and what would he say if she knew about her, and-...

See this was *why* she needed something to take her mind off of everything.

And since she obviously couldn’t take Joy, well. Thus she was headed to the Reform Club.

...This was a bad idea. Fucking fuck, this was _such_ a bad idea.

It wasn't even half an hour after the club had opened its doors for the night when Sally finally arrived, but there were already members milling about outside, and some getting up to their usual shenanigans inside. Just going off of some of the sounds and the loud music that was trying to cover those sounds up. 

Poorly, at that, as she heard a zap and the squeal that followed it.

She hit the intercom. 

“Hi Julie! Mind buzzing me in?”

A breathy, ditzy female voice answered.

"Well, if it isn't our _dear_ friend, Sally Boyle! Haven't seen you here in person in a _long_ time. Not since you and Dr. Verloc were still together. Is he with you tonight?" 

"Oh- no, Anton’s definitely not-...no. Just me!”

"Oh! Well, you know you're always welcome here. Though usually you make your special deliveries to Madame W off-grounds, don't you?"

"Usually, yeah. But I’m here more for pleasure than business tonight. I mean you know how it is, sometimes a girl gets wanting." Sally punctuated this with a coquettish little wink to really sell the story. 

(Was it really a story if it was at least half-true? God, she didn’t even know anymore.)

There’s a delighted titter on the other end of the line.

"Oh of course, darling, _of course._ Come in, come in.”

Metal shutters flew up as the front door unlocked, and Sally headed into the Reform Club. 

Juliet gave a little wave from her reception booth, while the bobby on duty by the stairs practically leered at her as she passed him; a lean, hungry look about his eyes. Even by the usual town standards of lean and hungry.

“Evenin’, Miss Boyle. Always a pleasure to see Wellington Wells’ finest chemist at work…”

...Did he intend for that to sound as subtly threatening as it did? 

_Of course he did, Sally, he’s a bobby. They’re all like that. Worse than, even, since they’re always on edge when they don’t have their Blackberry..._

But better to stay on his good side, keep him eating out of the palm of her hand while she still could. Who knows, maybe she could convince him to be up for a little something here tonight if she *really* got desperate enough...he certainly wasn’t the worst-looking bobby in the lot, after all.

“Oh, you’re *too* kind. You know, I’d say it’s always a pleasure to know the boys in blue are looking out for me and the other citizens. Or...I suppose red, in your case, Constable.” 

She gives him a cheeky grin as he smooths a white-gloved hand down the brass-buttoned front of his crimson uniform; his broad chest puffing out just a little bit more.

Prideful little cockerel, wasn’t he.

“Yes, well. You have a _lovely_ night, Miss Boyle. And if you need anything at all, please, do not hesitate to ask.”

She could still feel his eyes boring into her back as she continued on down the hall, past the dressing room where most of the patrons would stow their belongings before changing into their-...well, gear was perhaps the politest term for the fetishists’ rubberized apparel.

Thanks to the sensitive nature of her equipment and chemicals, most of her outfit was grounded against electrical currents already. No need to get changed. Though at the same time, she *really* didn’t like the idea of going home with it all a mess...might send the wrong message if someone saw her.

_Wouldn’t be a problem if that ever so nice constable escorted you home…_

No, it would be fine. She’d just be careful. Besides, it wasn’t like she hadn’t come prepared for trouble, should it arise.

She checks the case by her side; the durable metal briefcase she always carried, and notes the hypodermics, atomizers (technically repurposed perfume bottles, yes, but atomizer just *sounded* cooler), and variously labeled pill bottles stashed within it. There were enough chemical cocktails and ‘party favors’ in there to knock out or bribe at least half the population of Maidenholm alone.

She nodded to herself. Yes, she would be fine.

_“Shit!”_

Of course right as she was thinking that, there was a loud thump and a curse from behind her that made her jump, and she immediately pressed herself back up against one of the wood-paneled walls; a knockout syringe clutched in her fist with thumb readied on the plunger.

For several moments there was quiet; nothing but the muffled sounds of the rest of the club and her own heartbeat thrumming in her ears. 

And then came shuffling, and metal clinking on metal.

After several moments, when it became clear that Foggy Jack wasn’t going to come charging through with a cleaver to murder them all, Sally chanced craning her head around the edge of the dressing room’s doorway to try and see what was going on.

The window to the outside courtyard was open, and there was a figure - no doubt whoever had broken in through said window - kneeling on the floor, picking the lock on the metal locker where some of the spare catsuits were kept; the ones for members who hadn’t gotten their own custom ones tailored yet.

She exhaled a frustrated sigh and rolled her eyes. Fuck’s sake, not again. 

Every now and then someone would try to sneak into the club without an invitation. Sometimes it was harmless drunkards who got lost on the way home from the pub, but most of the time it was some manner of pervert looking to get their jollies without getting vetted first.

Sally couldn’t understand it, mostly because the Reform Club wasn’t *exactly* particularly exclusive. The only people banned from here were those who had committed serious rule infractions, or if their names were Uncle Jack and Nick Lightbearer. 

Bloody hell, you could just go to Lionel Castershire’s shop and buy an invitation outright, the man didn’t exactly care who or where his Sovereigns came from so long as he got them!

Part of her considered just going and getting the bobby on duty, alerting him to whoever this was. ‘Course, it did no good to report an intruder if they’d scarpered by the time she got back with the constable, doubly so if they managed to nab and change into one of the catsuits like this one seemed to be trying to do, now did it? 

An unfortunate side-effect of the club dress code. It could ensure anonymity for its patrons, and everyone else as well.

_Come on, just turn around, let me get a good look at your face so I can see it hit the pavement after you get tossed out on your ear..._

The locker door finally popped open, and Sally heard a triumphant little ‘ _yes!_ ’ as the person rummaged around inside. They pulled out one of the catsuits and the accessories to go with, clutching the lot to their chest before they straightened and turned to set them down on the room bench. And even in the dimmer light, she could now see-...

Her eyes widened and she whipped back around, covering her mouth with a hand to keep from swearing outright and giving her position away.

_Fuck in a bucket!_

Why was he here? Of all places! Why, why, _why_ in the fuckety fucking FUCK was * _he_ * here?!

_Why was Arthur Hastings_ **_here?!_**

No, you know what? It couldn’t be him. It was impossible. This was just a case of mistaken identity, her mind playing tricks on her and making her see what she wanted to see, the residue of some concoction of hers. 

Because she *had* been thinking about him ever since that disastrous encounter in the alley behind the old Printing Office. Because of course she had. Because that was why she’d come to this damned sex dungeon in the first place, to try and get her mind _off of him._

She risked another look. 

But much as she wished she could blame it on the product of a yearning brain full of chemical stimulants, there was no mistaking him. 

That tall, lanky figure with its broad shoulders and tousle-able dark hair, those intense eyes behind their glasses as he pushed them up his long nose; the way it wrinkled up a bit and his brow furrowed as it always did when he was thinking intently. Like how he clearly was now, as he unfolded and regarded the rubber garment in his hands. 

It was Arthur. Of course it was Arthur. There was no one else it could be.

His blazer had been discarded casually on the bench and he was in the process of unbuttoning the white shirt beneath it.

“...god I’m going to look like an utter perv in this suit. I suppose that’s the point though. Least I’ll fit in with the rest of the pervs.” She could hear him muttering to himself. 

After the years of dealing with her various clients and paramours, Sally wasn’t exactly a girl who blushed easily anymore. After you’d been a guest of the Reform Club and made housecalls to Nick Lightbearer’s pad, you had seen it all and then some.

But god, somehow, she could feel her face heating up as she spied on the man changing in front of her. 

A rush of several feelings came bubbling up like a bad batch of Hallucinex and she quickly turned back around. She was staring down at the floor now through gloved fingers as she dragged them down her face; eyes impressively big; painted lips beneath her mask set into a grim line.

This wasn’t happening. _This couldn’t be happening._ This was the absolute worst outcome, a bloody goddamn nightmare. 

What would he say if he found her here? He already assumed the worst of her, already thought she was a whore. Still hated her for what she’d done with his father when they were teenagers, didn’t he? 

_What could she have done? What *should* she have done? Told his father no and ended up kicked out of their house and living on the streets? That’s practically what had happened anyway, as she ran away out of shame. Ran away, and right to Anton. But maybe she wouldn’t have needed Anton to survive, if she’d at least still had her best friend..._

Of course he did, and frankly, she couldn’t blame him. That bitter disdain he’d regarded her with, when she mentioned being on good terms with General Byng, even as she was offering to help him get out of the city...she deserved that, and so much more. Being caught here would only confirm everything he thought about her. 

And that was just what he knew about, imagine if he knew about all the other things she’d done, the things she still did, to keep herself and Gwen safe...god, imagine if he knew about _Gwen._

Worse still, she now *had* to tell someone he was there. Because if the other patrons or the bobby caught him without an invitation, if they found out he was a Downer, there was no telling what kind of trouble he’d get in. 

And how could she live with herself then? If he got hurt somehow and she knew she could have prevented it-...

Sally took a moment, tried to calm and compose her racing thoughts.

Okay. _Okay._ This wasn’t a complete disaster, at least not yet. She’d just...she’d go tell Juliet. That’s what she’d do. Or Madame Wanda. Yes. She’d tell someone about Arthur, that he was an unexpected guest of hers, and then she’d find one of the private rooms to hide out in until he left, or until she could sneak out. No harm, no foul, and no one would be the wiser.

Fuck, she hoped this worked. The night could not get much worse if it didn’t.

She spun smartly on her heel and headed back up the hall to Reception; rapping on the glass once she got there to get Juliet’s attention. The Wellette glanced up from the book she was reading, a vapid smile on her face as she stared at Sally.

Not a single light on inside her head, bless her. This might not even be that hard after all.

“Well hello again, Miss Boyle! Something not the matter, I hope?”

“Oh, no, not exactly, it’s just, well…” She was thankful for her flushed appearance, she could easily pass it off as embarrassment. 

“Aha...god, this is so silly, but I actually do have a guest with me - see, I invited him originally, but when he wasn’t here waiting when I showed up, well I figured he’d just got cold feet and stood me up; you know, he’s a newbie to the scene and all. I know I told him the time to meet and the club’s address, but- well, you know how men can be, am I right?”

Sally let out a nervous sort of laugh that the receptionist echoed as she giggled. 

“Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em!”

_“Right?_ And then what do you know, this idiot shows up anyway, and late to boot! Talk about making a girl feel special. And then as if that wasn’t bad enough, he tells me he forgot his invite! I know Joy makes you a bit spacey sometimes, but imagine, you come all the way out here after curfew and forget the ONE thing you’re supposed to have.” 

She gave this big, heaving sigh. “So I...kind of let him in. I know I should've just had our lovely constable throw him out and made him try to find his own way back home for standing me up the way he did, but...but _god,_ Julie, he’s just _really_ cute, you know?” 

_At least that much wasn’t a lie._

_Fuck._ **_Focus._ **

“Look, I know the club rules regarding invites and unannounced guests, but maybe we could look the other way, just this once? I promise, I’ll make sure he’s on his best behavior. Just, if anyone asks about him, tell them...tell them he’s with me, alright?”

The look on Juliet’s face - the look molded out of the white plastic of her Happy Face Mask notwithstanding - was almost sympathetic. Sally was half expecting her to try and reach through the glass to pat her hand. 

“‘Course, darling. Anything for you. I’ll let Constable Burke and Madame W know, yeah?”

Sally felt every tensed-up muscle relax from sheer relief. “Thank you, thank you *so* much. I’ll make it up to you, twenty percent off any one of my Specials that you want.”

“Oh, you really are too kind, Miss Boyle.” 

A light on the intercom console lit up and caught her attention then, and she waved a hand as she turned away. “Whoops, got to get back to the doors, now go on, go on, you and your man have some fun!”

“Right. Thanks again, Julie!”

Well. At least that was one fire extinguished.

Now she just had to worry about avoiding him while he was here. And Sally was definitely good at eluding folks when she really wanted to.

God, what a fucking day. 

A drink. She needed a drink. 

She’d go up to the lounge, get a drink, go find a room to camp out in. Find some other outlet for her headaches. And then head back home to Gwen and her projects with a clearer head.

And that would be the end of that, right? Of course it would.

She headed upstairs and passed under the sign that said _Marquis Lounge_. Straight ahead was the bar, and her pace became more brisk as she tried to hurry over.

However, her boot caught on something and the next thing Sally knew, she was falling. Her face skidded across the shag carpet (god, had it always been this particularly hideous shade of burgundy?) and her helmet knocked against a nearby table; making its contents rattle a bit.

She winced as she slowly pushed herself up. Nothing felt permanently damaged, although there was the sting of a bit of rugburn on her cheek. But still, it wasn’t exactly _fun;_ going tits up like that.

_“Ow_...shit, I could have broken my ankle, what in the hell-?!”

She turned to see what had tripped her up. She could make out the shape of a rubber clad leg with the toe of her boot still caught on one of their own, and she followed that up to someone with their hand in the pocket of a drunken bobby passed out on a couch-

Oh.

Oh no.

_Fuck in a bucket, you just had to jinx it, didn’t you?_

Arthur stared back at her, frozen in a very obvious panic. She would say it was like a deer in headlights, but there hadn’t been deer nor working headlights in Wellington Wells in close to a decade. 

Perhaps a plague wastrel caught in a torchlight was a more apt and up-to-date comparison.

Regardless of the simile, neither one of them moved, nor spoke, nor even really breathed. Time itself felt like it had frozen, and yet, she could still hear the tick of the clock on the wall. Or was that just her own heartbeat in her ears again?

Finally, he blinked, and that seemed to break the spell, as Sally hissed quietly at him.

_“What are you doing here?!”_

Eyes darted around as he clearly fumbled around for an excuse, before he decided to just get indignant instead.

“I-...that-...I asked you first!”

Oh, he had to be kidding her. Maybe that tactic could have worked on the average Wellie with their head so far in the clouds it was giving them anoxia.

But she wasn’t the average Joy-stoned Wellie, now was she? Which is why Sally just got belligerent with him right back.

“No you didn’t!”

“Well I’m asking now then, why are YOU here?!”

“That’s none of your business! Why are you groping around a bobby?!”

“Well that’s none of your business, either, now is it?”

“It is when I’m covering for your arse!”

“You don’t need to cover for me, I can handle myself just fine!”

“I literally tripped over you picking a bobby’s pocket!”

“It would have been fine if you hadn’t tripped over me!”

Sally pressed her fingers into her temples with a frustrated groan. This was getting them nowhere. She just thanked god the constable clearly couldn’t hold his scotch.

“Just-...Arthur, just tell me, what do you need from a bobby that you went through all the trouble to break into a fetish club to do it?”

For several moments he just sort of glared, like he was going to keep being petulant and not answer her, but then she watched as his shoulders slumped and he sighed.

“...I need his ID. To get into Lud’s Holm.”

“Lud’s Holm-? Why on earth-”

Stumbling footsteps and laughter came from the stairwell and her eyes widened. 

“Shit-...look, we can’t talk about this here, just- _come on._ ”

Before Arthur could open his mouth to protest, Sally grabbed his hand and was hauling him up to his feet and dragging him over to a door labeled _‘Out of Order’_ just off the lounge. 

Once it was open she practically shoved him inside, closing the door behind her and standing against it with her ear pressed against the wood as she made sure no one was nearby or had noticed the two of them ducking off.

_Would they even care, anyway? A girl and a boy sneaking off into a private room together? Exactly where do you think you are right now, Sally?_

When there was no knock or interruption, she breathed a sigh of relief and turned back towards Arthur. He was standing there a bit awkwardly, and she surveyed him up and down, unable to resist a little smirk as she regarded the rubber catsuit clinging to his frame.

“Well, Hastings, I have to say, you are the last person I would expect to be able to pull off the club uniform.”

Red rushed right to his ears and he spluttered a bit, instinctively tugging at the tight material.

“Look, I-...there wasn’t exactly a lot of options for getting in here unnoticed-”

“Relax, Arthur, I’m only teasing.”

The place they’d slipped into seemed to be one of the viewing rooms. Normally club patrons could press a button, curtains flew up, and they could watch all manner of debauchery go on. This was one of the bigger ones, a full bedroom suite...if a full bedroom suite had a dancer’s pole in one corner and a wall with all manner of toys and tools mounted on it, anyway.

Sally dimly remembered something about the motors that operated the curtains being broken and needing fixing, since...well, that was the whole point of a viewing room, now wasn’t it? Anton had raised a fuss about it, something about if he was going to pay dues here they should at least put them to good use. She supposed she was thankful that Madame Wanda had never gotten around to repairing it.

Arthur went over to gingerly take a seat on the edge of the bed, burying his head in his hands with an exasperated groan.

“God, this is *not* where I expected my night to go…”

“Trust me, you’re not the only one.” 

Sally took a seat beside him, hesitating at first, but then reaching over and resting a hand on his shoulder. 

“You...you said you needed to get into Lud’s Holm? Why on earth would you ever go there? Place is under quarantine and crawling with plague, the only people who go there have got a death wish...or are really desperate…”

_Or both._

“I need to talk to Dr. Faraday about fixing the bridge to St. George’s Holm-”

“Wait, Dr. Faraday is in _Lud’s Holm?_ Good god, _why?_ ”

“Bloody hell, Sally, I don’t know. He did something, or didn’t do something, that got the Executive Committee well and mad at him, But he’s the only one who can apparently fix the damn bridge, and I need to get across it to get back into the Parade so I can get the hell out of here.”

“But-...okay, first of all, Dr. Faraday’s a woman. Second, I live in St. George’s, remember? And obviously, I’ve had no problems getting in and out...”

“...yeah, I’m sure *you* haven’t.” He mutters it under his breath, and Sally immediately withdraws her hand from him like his tone was caustic enough to burn her.

Not content enough with that and apparently deciding to throw salt on the fresh wound to boot, he shoots her a look. 

“Incidentally, the General’s not here too, is he? Sure he’s not going to come looking for you?”

“No, Arthur. Robert- General Byng’s a client. We’re not...I mean he’s not-...” 

She bit her lip, and even then it came out harsher than she intended. 

“I don’t _sleep_ with my clients, Arthur, I haven’t had sex in over two years.”

_Not since you and Anton broke up. Not since you found out you were pregnant with Gwen._

_...not for the General’s lack of trying, either._

He raised an eyebrow at that, clearly not believing her. Which she wanted to get mad at him about, but she could never be mad at him.

_Maybe it’d be easier if you could. He’s had no qualms about nursing a grudge for fourteen years after all, hasn’t he?_

And also, given they were, you know...in a fetish club, well, she supposed she couldn’t blame him for not believing her, at least on that front.

Arthur looked away again with another sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m...I’m sorry. You know, when I pictured the next time we’d see each other again, there were a lot of things I wanted to say. Some of them angry, a lot of them...actually not. But making a completely insensitive arse of myself definitely wasn’t one of my plans.”

“Yeah, well. Lot’ve things don’t always go the way we plan them, do they?” She gave him a weak smile.

He snorts a bit.

“...s’pose not. Certainly didn’t plan on having to try and break into a clubhouse full of perverts to get an ID card.”

“Yeah, I’m still trying to figure out that part, why-...? I mean, wouldn’t it just be easier to lift it off literally *any* other bobby? Well, I suppose not that much easier, you’re still trying to get something off a bobby and all...”

“You would think, but Hickenbotham is the only one with direct access to Faraday’s location, apparently. Seems the rest of the force isn’t too fond of him so they just kind of shafted his duties out there. And instead, he spends a lot of time here beating himself up about her situation. Or...having someone else beat him up for it, apparently.” Arthur grimaced a bit. “I...don’t really want to think too hard about it."

Sally’s smile became wider and more wry, then. “What, you don’t want to think about the constable getting tied up and spanked by a little old lady?”

_“_ No, I really d- wait, _what?_ ”

“Oh-...oh right, of course, you haven’t met Madame Wanda…”

_“I’m_ **_sorry?_** Who the _fuck_ is _Madame_ **_Wanda_** _?!”_

“She’s the one who runs this place. She’s really sweet, actually! Well, for someone who’s also kind of...absolutely depraved.”

Arthur looked like he had absolutely no good way to respond to that as he just sort of stared at her a few moments, before he hesitantly spoke again.

“...so…”

Now it was Sally who raised an eyebrow. “‘So’...what?”

“...you’re not-...I mean, since you’re here, does that mean you-...you know-?”

“Am I one of Madame Wanda’s patrons? Is that what you’re trying to ask me?”

He practically flinched back when she just asked it outright and glanced away as he began to fidget with the rubber gloves of his outfit. 

“That-...um, yeah, basically. So...so are you? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t-”

“No, Arthur. I am not, nor have I ever been one of Madame W’s clientele.”

He looked visibly relieved as soon as she said that.

“Oh, well. Good. That’s-...good?”

Something devilish glittered in her eyes as she suddenly got an idea, though. 

“Of course, if you’re that interested in knowing if she has a position open, I can always go and put in a good word for you-” 

Sally made to get off the bed and head for the door, and Arthur practically squawked and grabbed for her, tugging her back down next to him. She was having to stifle her giggling with her free hand as he got all flustered.

_“Now hold on, let’s not go that far-”_

God, it almost felt like the old times again. Back when they were just the Two Musketeers, Sparky and Salamander, getting up to no good together. Like one of the espionage missions they used to pretend to be on, infiltrating imaginary enemy lines.

“...are you sure about that? I mean how do I know you didn’t just make up the excuse about Bobby Hickenbotham to cover up the fact you’ve got a dirty little secret, Hastings?”

“Believe me, I’ve got a lot of skeletons in my closet, but none of them have ever dressed like _this._ ” He gestures to himself.

Once more Sally found her gaze wandering over Arthur and staring at him for perhaps several moments longer than would be considered cursory. Or respectful. 

Rubber had never been her *thing,* exactly, she was more interested in its practical applications rather than sexual ones, though it certainly had its overlapping uses between the two. But she had to admit, he did fill that catsuit out nicely, watching it rise and fall with his breathing and how it really complimented those long limbs of his. 

Her mind started to wander off to places she hadn’t let it go in years, places that revolved around the two of them together, and oh fuck in a bucket he was staring at her, fuck, _fuck._

“Uh...hello? Ground Control to Sally? You...you alright there?”

Sally blinked a bit, trying to drag herself out of her reverie.

_You’re not exactly the horny teenagers you used to be. Even if you were, he doesn’t even like you like that anymore...if he ever did. You know why you can’t do this, Sally, why you need to put that idea out of your head,_ **_right now._ **

“Wh-...oh, yeah, no, just...just thinking, that’s all.”

“Right. So...if you don’t mind me asking, why are you actually here tonight, anyway? If you haven’t...you know. In so long.”

“I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. It wasn’t my first choice, but...I needed to do something, you know? Was starting to impact my work.”

Arthur’s face fell.

“...and I don’t suppose I’m part of that stress, am I?”

She chewed her bottom lip some more, wringing her hands a bit now. “Maybe...just a little bit? But I swear, it’s not just you though, but it’s-”

“...complicated.” He finished the sentence for her. “Brilliant.”

“I’m _sorry_ , I know how awful that makes me-”

“You’re not-...you’re not awful, Sally. You’re the furthest thing from it. God, I really have fucked all this up, haven’t I? All I wanted to do was get that stupid ID card so I could get across the bridge, and then I could go see you again and apologize to you for all those awful things I said-”

Her voice was soft. “...you wanted to see me again?”

He just kept going like he hadn’t heard. 

Maybe he hadn’t. 

“...and yes, I was angry, and I know it’s been fourteen years and I should be over it. Even though a lot of the time it feels like I’ll never be over it. But you have to believe me, I didn’t mean it, not any of it. I never did. I just felt so _jealous_...and I guess I still am, given how I reacted to you saying you were in good with the General, when all you wanted to do was help me-...” 

“Wait. Wait, hold on a second. You were jealous? Of me and the General? Does that mean-?” 

Arthur’s mouth could not have snapped shut faster and he quickly turned away from her.

And _she_ actually scrambled over to his other side when he did, cupping his face in both hands, desperately forcing him to meet her gaze. 

“Arthur, please, what does that mean? You said you were jealous. Does that mean you-...that you-...”

The words were a struggle to get out as her voice broke, like coughing up cracked glass. 

“...does that mean you don’t hate me after all?”

His breath caught, and her heart kept skipping beats, as though it couldn’t decide if it wanted to speed up or slow down as she waited for him to answer her. God, if he even answered her at all. Or worse, what he would say if he _did._

Would he lie to her? If he did, would it be to save his own skin, or would it be to spare her feelings?

_You could always do what the Doctors do and check his physiological responses. If you had more time, you could even whip up a little Sally Special, couldn’t you? Something to *make* him tell you the truth._

No. She wouldn’t do that to him. She _*couldn’t*_ do that to him. 

Not to Arthur, never to Arthur.

Grey eyes bored into dark brown, searching, pleading. As the quiet moments ticked on. 

She...she had almost forgotten how lovely his eyes were. 

One of the side effects of Joy was that it made the pupils contract, after all. That was how people could immediately tell you were off it. That was the effect she was replicating with her Sunshine.

At Haworth, they’d worked with advertisers. Turned it into a beauty symbol, a bunch of bollocks about it really making the color of one’s eyes ‘pop’. But really, it just made everyone look like a bunch of deranged cartoon characters. 

_If a man looks you in the eyes, and likes the reflection of himself that he sees..._

She could see herself in his; a washed-out ghost trapped behind glass, before her vision became too blurred to see much of anything at all, and she had to blink away the unshed tears.

After what felt like an eternity, finally, Arthur answered her. His words were so quiet she had to strain to hear them. 

“...I never did, Sally. I never could.”

The effect those words had on her...elation _bloomed_ in her chest, and she barked out this strained, watery laugh. 

Before fumbling fingers were moving, plucking his glasses off his face, worming under the edge of his mask to pry it off of him.

“Wh-...Sal, what- what are you doing?”

“I can’t exactly kiss you with these stupid things in the way, now can I?”

So fittingly, his eyes widened as she tossed the mask beside them on the bed; her own soon joining it; a thumb tracing softly over his cheek.

“God, I missed you so…”

And then she was kissing him. 

It was something she’d thought about doing for fourteen years.

Although, certainly never like this. If you had told her she would finally kiss Arthur Hastings in a closed backroom of the Reform Club after the both of them had gone full-time Downer, with him in a catsuit after she’d caught him trying to pickpocket a bobby to boot, she’d have written it off as complete and utter lunacy. The kind of daydream thought up in a Joy overdose spiral.

But this was really happening, wasn’t it? It didn’t feel real. But it was.

And it was so much better than all the times she’d imagined it.

When she pulled back, gently setting and straightening his glasses back on his face, she frowned as she realized he was just sitting there, frozen in place.

“Arthur?”

He didn’t respond.

The sudden high practically evaporated as the anxiety came back, all cold and prickling and setting her hands to trembling.

“...Arthur?”

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

To say the inside of Arthur’s head was a whirlwind in that moment was a bit misleading. It was more like the lights were off and everyone else in the office had gone home, but the light in one room was still on, where the world’s worst interrogation was going on. 

With himself.

She’d kissed him. Sally Boyle. The Salamander. His former best friend.

...Why did she kiss him?

_Why does anyone kiss anyone? Certainly not because she likes you, right? Oh no, that’d be the too easy and obvious answer, wouldn’t it._

Did she *really* like him? She could have had any man in Wellington Wells. Not just him, boring old Downer that he was-...

_Yes, just a boring, regular, completely insignificant Downer, doing boring, regular, completely insignificant Downer things._

_Like when you snuck into Ravensholm just to do a favor for Ollie Starkey and found out everyone surrendered their children and rolled over for the Germans over a damn papier mâché lie._

...hell, just look at the kind of company she kept. Not just Dr. Verloc and General Byng, either. She’d done photoshoots for Davy Hackney and ended up on the cover of his fashion magazine. For god’s sake, she had bloody _Nick Lightbearer_ as one of her clients! What did he have compared to the likes of all them?

Or was that just it? Was she doing this because she just wanted something *from* him?

_It’s impossible. Just complete rubbish that she’d like you. You were only her best friend and confidante for the first sixteen years of her life. Her shoulder to cry on, her hand to hold. But oh yes, ruthless bastards like Verloc and Byng who really only want her for what she can do for them are so much more appealing, right?_

_...hey, that wouldn’t happen to sound familiar, would it, Mister “I need a Letter of Transit?”_

But at the same time, even if she did want something, would it *really* be so bad to indulge her? It had been so good to see her again, and to kiss her...it was better than any Joy he’d ever taken, better than anyone else he’d ever been with.

_And lord knows you haven’t been with many._

Sally was beautiful...maybe the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. 

_Beautiful *and* brilliant. Brightest chemist of our age, they used to say she’d be running Haworth Labs herself one day._

But she was destructive. Just like the sea. He’d get caught up in her, tossed about and shredded by her winds and waves, and whatever was left of him after would be sunk. 

While she would come through it just fine, as she always did.

_Is she fine, though? Is she really? Look at where you two are right now, why she said she was here. The ‘stuff’ she mentioned back in that alley. Not even counting what her mum did. Would anyone be fine, thinking that their best (and only) friend hated them all these years?_

_What if Percy just appeared to you right now and told you he hated you after all this time for what you did to him?_

He’d be completely justified in it.

_You’d be a wreck...well. Even more of a wreck than you already are, let’s not kid ourselves here. You’d do anything and everything in your power to try and make it up to him, beg him for forgiveness._

And besides. There was still...that night.

_Oh yes, that night._

That checked gingham dress...

_Did you ever once consider in all fourteen of those years that your dad lied to you? That maybe she didn’t come onto him? That maybe he’s the one who talked *her* into it, because she was vulnerable and he had the perfect leverage to use against her to get it? Which is to say, *you?*_

_What was it Ollie had said, you know, long before he went well and truly starkers? “Some men will use their grief to justify anything.”_

_You remember that? When your dad was off running ‘errands’ all the time, so you and Sally both spent an awful lot of time being looked after at his house? Because Ollie always got broody late into the nights when he got into the drink enough, and began to remember the war, or the Breeder Riots, or The Very Bad Thing. You didn’t understand it then, you just thought Dad was working to keep food on the table. Well. Back when there still *was* food, anyway._

_At least until Sally got old enough...and then he didn’t have to run errands anymore, now did he?_

How...how could he ever be expected to just forget that?

_You can’t really lie to yourself anymore. That’s why you stopped taking the happy pills, after all. Maybe you justified it because you didn’t want to lose the one family member you knew you still had. Even if he was utter shit. Still think it was a fair trade?_

_But you don’t miss him now that he’s gone. You miss mum, and you miss Percy, and you’re certainly civil enough with Uncle Henry, and Uncle Henry volunteered for the damn Germans, but you don’t miss_ **_him._ ** _Which says quite a lot._

_You know who you *have* missed, though? And who definitely missed you? As in, literally just said it to you, not moments ago?_

You know what? Forget the past. At best, forget that part of the past, at least for the moment. Look at the rest of their history together. Every time she wanted something, every little ‘Arthur please’ that she’d asked of him when she had a whim, it had gone badly for him, hadn’t it?

_And yet now it’s *you* she wants, you great bloody idiot._

This would surely go badly, too.

_Look around. Things are already bad and getting worse by the day, and not just for you, but for everybody. It’s not like *she* caused you to get chased out of the Parade._

_I mean for christ’s sake, your boss ate a dead rat in front of you. In case you hadn’t caught on to how well and truly fucked things are yet._

God, he just wanted that stupid Letter of Transit so he could leave. He didn’t ask to get caught up in all of this.

_Did she *say* she wasn’t still going to get you that, you selfish ass?_

And it all could have been avoided, this tumult of feelings and fears, if he’d just been a little more careful.

_Ah yes, good ol’ safe, dependable, careful and cautious Arthur. Someone you can trust. And in the presence of the one person who always trusted you the most, no less._

...Was he really in the wrong here for thinking like this? 

It was just self-preservation...wasn’t it?

_Is that the word we’re using for ‘cowardice’ now?_

Of course the last time he committed an act of self-preservation…he crawled into a pill bottle for years on end to try and forget it.

_Can still hear that train whistle as clear as day, can’t you._

Arthur knew if he did that again, he’d never find his way out the second time. And he already hated himself as it was for forgetting Percy. If he forgot Sally too-...

_She lost you once already. Could you really live with yourself if you abandoned her again?_

...but then what was he going to do?

_You know what to do._

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

He was so quiet, for so long. Sally just sat there next to him, trying her damned hardest to keep it together as she stared down at her hands.

_You’ve done it now, Sally. You’ve really gone and made a damn fine mess of things this time. He’ll push you away, he’s going to walk out, and you’ll never see him again because he’s trying to leave this awful place. Which is what you should be doing too, not chasing this silly fantasy. You need to think about what’s best for you and Gwen, and just accept that he doesn’t feel about you the same way you do him-_

Arthur jolted suddenly, sucking in a breath and blinking rapidly, like he was just now realizing where he was and who he was with.

“I-...Sally?”

“Arthur, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that-”

He scooted closer, reaching up and starting to mess with the strap to her helmet.

“Arthur-? What are you _doing?_ ”

“Can’t exactly kiss you properly with this in the way, either.”

_“What?”_

Did she hear him correctly? This * _definitely*_ had to be her mind just telling her what she wanted to hear, right? 

He tugged the white helmet off and the goggles that went with it; ignoring the slight clunk as he unceremoniously dropped both to the floor. She opened her mouth to scold him about being more careful, because those goggles were lab grade...but then his fingers were carding through her short black hair, cupping the back of her head to pull her forward, and-

_Oh._

She didn’t hesitate at all this time; her arms went up and around his neck as she kissed him back eagerly. She was still rising on that bubble of relief and excitement, but a little part of it had given way to a ravenousness that surprised even herself. 

And wouldn’t you just know it, she was sitting here with her own personal feast while there was a famine going on outside.

Things really started to get more intense as she nipped at his bottom lip, and she could feel the hot flush that rose to his skin, even through her gloves.

The best part, though? Since he was a Downer now, she couldn’t fucking taste a single bit of Joy on him. 

Oh certainly she could taste _other_ things on him, as she ran her tongue over his own, practically savoring the motion. You didn’t have to be a chemist like her to recognize the strong, sour tang of blue currant, or the nip of stolen scotch he must have had to be able to work up the courage to get in here.

But there was none of that godforsaken sickly-sweet flavor she had come to associate with Joy and its users. The stuff was so wretched, it leached out of your pores and clung to you, so you always had your very own personal toxic miasma following you around.

_Not medicine. Poison. A poison pill you and Anton dolled up in a pretty pink dress._

That was how the Doctors sniffed someone out. They were trained to be able to smell the chemical changes, that lack of cloying sweetness when someone was off their Joy. That was why she always had to be careful around them, because Sunshine couldn’t fool them.

But he smelled-...well, okay, he smelled mostly like rubber at the moment. Obviously. But *besides* that - there were Motilene fumes, and all those plant smells from running around the Garden District.

_What impressions of her would he notice? Would any of them be good ones worth remembering? Or would it just be acrid and painful, like most of her chemical cocktails?_

Much of it was just downright awful. He’d been using healing balms made from Rose of Gilead, she could *definitely* tell. Sure, they might take the sting out of all but the worst injuries, but damned if it didn’t make you smell like a walking funeral. 

But that’s also what made it a real memory, and not something muddled and candy-coated. Because real life wasn’t always sweet and wonderful. It could be bitter, and dark, and foul.

Though Sally had to admit even to herself, this was pretty damn good.

They broke apart on accident when she tried to clamber into his lap proper and press closer to him, and instead he kind of overbalanced and just fell backwards onto the bed.

“ _Oof._ Well, shit.”

See, this is exactly what she meant. Joy would have made her remember this as the perfect romance, one with no fuckups or worries at all. 

And where was the fun in that?

She couldn’t help but giggle a little bit as she moved so that she was supporting herself above him, looking him over to make sure he hadn’t hurt himself.

“...sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“What, you? Caught by surprise? _Never_. What happened to the Arthur Hastings I used to know with his incredible ‘cat-like agility’ to always land on his feet?”

“I don’t know *what* Arthur Hastings you knew who had that ability, but you should introduce me sometime, maybe he can give me some pointers next time I’m dodging the bobbies.”

He had this hazy, sweet smile as he propped himself up on his elbows, and she felt her heart flutter again.

“Maybe you’re not really him. Maybe you’re just a very dashing body double, sent to seduce all my secret formulas out of me.”

There’s a split second as he takes that in, and he actually chuckles wryly to himself.

“...you know, when I got recruited by the Special Operations Executive, I didn’t think this was the kind of mission mad Johnny Bolton intended for me...alright. Ask me something only the real Arthur would know, then, so I can prove it."

Sally sat back a bit, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully before her eyes lit up, and then narrowed at him to accompany a particularly mischievous grin.

And boy did Arthur feel his stomach do a few somersaults at that. Was that feeling fear, or thrill? 

_Why not both?_

“D’you still remember...how you got the nickname Sparky?”

He groaned and slapped a hand over his eyes.

“Oh my god. Out of *everything* you could have asked me…”

She laughs (and there were those somersaults again), before leaning in close, slowly walking her fingers up his chest, and that’s when Arthur was pretty sure he’d stopped breathing at that particular moment.

“Oh come on, it’s not like anyone else has to know…” 

Before she booped his nose, anyway, and leaned right back.

_“...Sparky._ ”

He wrinkled his nose at the boop and shot her an incredibly deadpan look, before he sighed, flopping back against the bed again to stare up at the ceiling as he spoke.

“It was in sixth year, and I had put some kind of gadget together for science class, and even though Percy told me I’d wired it wrong, I didn’t listen to him. So naturally, when I tried to turn it on in class, the whole damn thing short-circuited and electrocuted me right in front of everyone. And then no one was able to touch me for the rest of the day or else they’d get hit with residual shocks.”

Sally’s face filled his vision again and this time she actually did kiss him, less intense this time.

“Aha. So you are the real Arthur, after all. See, now was that so hard?”

“Utterly torturous, thanks for asking.”

“Oh, don’t be so overdramatic. ‘Sides, it could be worse, at least you didn’t burn your eyebrows off in a chem lab accident, otherwise maybe I’d be the one calling *you* Salamander.”

“Yeah, but at least salamanders are cute…”

“Are you saying that because you believe that, or is that just because you’ve got a pretty girl on top of you right now whose pants you’re trying to get into?”

“...it can’t be both?”

She rolled her eyes and swatted his shoulder, but the smile didn’t fade. 

“Good to see the years haven’t affected your charms any. Bet you just drove the girls in the Parade wild with that kind of flirting.”

At that, he rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away awkwardly.

“Yeah, you...might be a bit surprised on that front.”

And truth be told, she actually was. Disregarding some of the, ahem, _excitatory_ effects she knew Joy could have, there was always some part of Sally that expected Arthur to just...move on. Work his 9 to 5, find himself a nice simple Wellette from either the Parade or in the Village, and settle down into some cozy illusion of married life or something.

...Maybe she just told herself that to try and make herself forget *him.*

_But remember how he looked at you, when you first ran back into each other in that alley? Had you ever seen a man’s jaw actually drop before?_

_Especially for you?_

“Well. Don’t worry, you’re in good company, I haven’t done this in a while, either. So I’m not going to be mad if you haven’t got that track star stamina you used to.”

That slightly indignant look was back on his face (god, it was cute, like an angry rabbit) as he shifted a bit underneath her. 

“Hey, I’ve got plenty of stamina! How do you think I’ve been able to elude capture as Wellington Wells’ most wanted Downer all this time?”

“Running the hundred meter is quite a bit different than shagging, Sparky, you ought to know that.”

And that’s when her eyes suddenly lit up with another idea.

“Actually-...” Sally glanced over her shoulder in the direction of a wardrobe in the corner of the room, and then back to him.

“So...Arthur. Do you know *why* the Reform Club has this particular...uniform requirement?” She motioned to the catsuit he was still wearing, and at the rubberized portions of her own dress.

Arthur shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m a bit too...”

She smirked teasingly. “...vanilla?”

His ears were turning red again. “...Not the word I would have picked, but sure, let’s call it that.”

“Okay, well, you know the whole thing about rubber and electricity resistance, of course.”

“Yeah, ‘course. ...Should I start worrying about where this is going?”

“No- no, listen, it’s only a thought. We don’t have to try it if you don’t want to, I promise. But-...you know what, let me go get it.” 

She clambered off of him, going to rummage in the wardrobe, and he sat up again; pushing his glasses up his nose and craning his head to try and see what she was doing.

Arthur had to admit, he might not have been the most *adventurous* person in bed, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew people brought all kinds of odd things into the act to, uh, _spice things up_ , as it were.

Though, the last thing he expected was for her to turn back around clutching an entire **_shock baton_** in her hands, and he scuttled backwards until he hit the headboard.

_“Sally, what the fuck-”_

“I’ve done...a little bit with these things. And I won’t deny, in the right hands, it can be really fun. Just got to make sure this power cell’s still got some Motilene in it...”

Sally had never been good with tech. A whiz with chems, sure, but it was definitely a sho-...a surprise to see her servicing the baton with all the familiarity of a soldier with his rifle. Popping open the power casing to check the power cell, before she nodded to herself and closed it back up to begin messing with some manner of dial.

There was a split second where nothing happened, and then she pressed a button and the head of the baton lit up with a crackle of arcing electricity.

Okay. Now that turning in his stomach, it was fear. It was _definitely_ fear.

“Sally, if we’re being honest with each other, I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with introducing a _bobby weapon_ into the boudoir.”

She blinked in mild surprise as she stopped messing with the dial. The electrical arcs died down, but the device still glowed and hummed faintly - proving it was still very much on and very much _dangerous._

“Oh! Oh, god, no, these aren’t the same ones the bobbies use, don’t worry.”

His eyes kept darting between the baton and then back to her as she spoke. 

“...They aren’t?”

“Well-...some people here try to get the ones the bobbies use for the higher amperage and pain factors, but I don’t think I need to explain why that’s generally considered a very bad idea. No, no, these ones here are all safe, trust me.”

“Oh, you really...you really do know your way around these things.”

He could see the way her smile was fading, and a needle of guilt jabbed right through the dread.

_Bloody hell, do you EVER stop running your mouth at the worst times?_

“...does it bother you? Like I said, we don’t have to-”

“N-no, no! I mean, like you said, it should be safe, and I- I trust you, believe me. But um, it’s just…don’t you think going right to electrocution is a bit of an extreme * _jump_ * in the foreplay?”

“I mean I wasn’t just going to smack you with it on its highest setting, Arthur, really now. I wasn’t even going to use it on you unless you really wanted me to.”

The dots weren’t quite connecting for him. “You weren’t? Then...who exactly were you planning on using it on?”

“...um. Myself?”

Now it was her turn to blush, as she sort of fidgeted with the baton now, turning it over in her hands.

“Honestly, what I was really going to ask you to do with it was, um. After I showed you how it worked, if you’d want to use it... _on me._ ”

Oh. _Oh._ Well now. That changed a few things, now didn’t it?

He swallowed dryly. Boy, this suit was starting to feel awful confining. Er, well, more than it did already.

“...okay. Sh-show me?”

God, *why* did his voice have to crack like that.

Sally gave him another smile, definitely excited, if a tad nervous. Which also surprised her, because again, it’s not like she hadn’t done this kind of thing before. 

Although, it was certainly the first time she was doing it for Arthur.

_And if you’re lucky, maybe it won’t be the only time._

But she knew the perfect little demonstration to get them started, and she hiked one of her legs up onto the bed, to start taking off one of her thigh-high boots; slowly sliding the zipper down the length of her leg. Partly because she didn’t want to get it caught on her leggings, of course, but also because...

Arthur was now watching her *very* intently and she actually saw him bite his bottom lip a bit.

...well, that.

Sally casually pulled it off and dropped it beside her discarded helmet, and it wasn’t long before its mate soon joined it. Her height had dropped by a couple of inches as a result of not having the heels, but honestly, she was fine with that. 

She'd just...pull Arthur down to her level if she needed to.

She began rolling up her pant leg to her knee. At which point, she gave a small flourish with the shock baton, and then cranked the dial up slightly to get a fresh spark going so he could see that it was, definitely, absolutely, 100% live.

And then she pressed the glowing head of the device to her calf, a gasp escaping her as soon as she made the contact. 

_“Ah!”_

If she had to compare it to anything, the sensation was a lot like a bee sting. It was hot, and yes, a little painful; it even left a light red welt behind on her pale skin. 

But the pain was incredibly fleeting. In fact it was already gone, soon as she dialed the baton back down. 

The thing that made it all worth it, though, was the incredible tingling spreading from the spot as the electrical current dashed through her nerves; the pleasant numbness that sank into her muscles after it had faded.

So yes, it was a bee sting. If bee stings carried a fucking aphrodesiac with them. 

Sally shivered a bit. Fuck, she had actually forgotten how... _good_ that felt. And that was just on the lower setting.

When she regarded Arthur again for his reaction, she could see he was nervously peeking at her through his fingers, almost like he’d expected the worst and for her to go up in flames or something. It was actually kind of adorable, how much he worried about her.

She stepped forward and spun the baton around in her hand; holding it carefully by its middle, and she pushed the handle up under Arthur’s chin to force his head up and make him meet her eye. 

He squirmed against the sheets and swallowed again; feeling the grip press hard into his throat as he did, and he _hoped to_ **_god_** , Sally hadn’t noticed yet just how much he liked that.

“...Now how can I put on a show if you’re going to miss all the action, Hastings?”

“Oh, I’m-...I’m paying _close_ attention, believe me.” 

“You’d better. And as you can see, I obviously didn’t just drop over dead from one little zap, so...want to see some more?”

He nodded eagerly and she stepped back away, turning her back to him; hands slipping up under the hem of her dress to grab hold of her leggings; giving him a fantastic view of her ass as she bent and shimmied while pulling them down, before she stepped out of them and kicked them aside.

Sally then gave him an enticing look from over her shoulder and a little wiggle with regards to the rest of her dress. 

“...want to give me a hand with getting out of this?”

Oh he could not have scrambled forward any faster than if she’d prodded him with the baton to do it, moving until he was sitting up on his knees right behind her on the bed. 

Arthur’s hands wandered over her petite frame; down her shoulders and back before settling at her waist, and Sally had to resist the urge to shiver at the touch.

He gave a few experimental tugs on the skirt, and then frowned when it didn’t budge. He tried again in a different spot and from a different direction, but still, nothing.

Not that the curve of her hips outlined by the material wasn’t lovely and all, but it was a lot tighter on her than he was expecting it to be. And there wasn’t anything that he could see to undo it-... _how in god’s name did she actually fit into this thing? How did she manage to even_ ** _move_** _in it?_

He cleared his throat. “Um. Salamander?”

“...yes, Arthur?”

“Not to ruin the moment here, but uh...how?”

There’s another gentle laugh and her hand reaches back to find one of his- 

(And maybe some of the electrical current was still coursing through her, for how else could he describe the incredible feeling of sparks that ran up and down his arm from the contact?)

-guiding it up towards the back of her neck, under the short capelet draped over her shoulders.

With her help and just a little more feeling around he finally managed to seize upon the zipper; tugging it down.

The whole affair dropped to the floor with the rest of her clothes and Sally turned back around; down now to nothing but a simple but attractive set of matching black and white lingerie.

He stared, openly agape at her, and it made her smirk a bit; a flicker of warmth lighting right up in her belly despite the chill of the air on her bare skin.

He finally managed to mumble out quietly. _“...this is usually the part where I wake up.”_

“Let’s hope you don’t wake up anytime soon, then.” 

And then just like that, she placed a hand in the middle of his chest and gave him a playful shove back against the bed, before crawling over him to drag him into another searing kiss.

He was getting more and more needy and impatient, Sally could tell. The harsher way he grabbed at her hair and coaxed a sharp gasp out of her; the feel of a certain something hard and straining against the rubber catsuit as he tried to grind his hips up against hers.

And god, she wanted him, she’d wanted nothing else for years. But patience was a virtue. 

...Or at least, she was pretty sure patience was the only way they’d both actually manage to get some relief, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings with that assumption.

She batted his hands away from her, grabbing hold of the baton again.

_“Sal-ly.”_ The frustration was clear as Arthur dragged out her name, grabbing her wrist gently when she tried to pull away from him.

“Soon, I promise.” She pressed a kiss at the edge of his jawline, before she murmured quietly into his ear while grinding down hard against him. 

Whatever grip he’d had on her immediately went slack as he moaned. 

“I said I was going to put on a show, and I _meant it_ ** _._ **”

Christ alive, if there’d been a drop of blood left in him above the belt, it was definitely fucking gone now. 

Sally seemed entirely unbothered by the state he was in, just taking a seat straddling his hips; enjoying the little noises he was trying to bite back every time she brushed against his arousal while she made herself comfortable.

Once she was, she fixed him with a serious look. “Alright. So. I know I said this was safe, but I just want to warn you accidents can still happen.”

The shock baton buzzed to life again and Sally made sure that she had Arthur’s...well, mostly undivided attention. In hindsight, maybe she should have done this before she had riled him up and pinned him down like this, but she’d just have to take her chances. 

...if anything catastrophic happened, that would still count as a lesson for both of them, right?

“So you want to avoid getting it wet - it’s not *that* kind of toy. I know you know better than to try and mix electricity and fluid but you would be stunned how many don’t. And you don’t use this above the waist - _especially_ not around the chest. I know, believe me, I’m disappointed too. But even on low, it can stop your heart dead. And if something starts to feel off, or someone wants to stop, we stop. Got it so far?”

He nodded slowly along as she laid out the rules. 

“...don’t get it wet, stay away from the chest, stop if someone says stop. Think I got it. But maybe you ought to do another practical demonstration. You know. Just to make sure.” 

He cracked a little grin at that, one she couldn’t help but return.

“...enthusiastic, aren’t we? But. Since you asked so nicely...”

This time she tapped herself twice; first on one hip, then the other. Each jolt made her shudder and let out all kinds of sounds; which only made Arthur squirm under her in turn.

Sally clicked the dial up to a higher setting, the electrical arcs jumping more wildly, and spread her legs a little wider before she pressed the baton to the inside of her thigh. 

Pain and pleasure burned themselves both into her mind and skin, and her mouth dropped open wantonly as she let out a high, eager whine. And then again, and again, and _again_ as she kept pressing the baton to the sensitive skin - or rather, pressing _herself_ against it as she was practically rocking against the device.

After a little bit she stopped to catch her breath; her eyes hazy from the overstimulation; her thighs quivering as they were covered in the red marks from the shock baton. God, she hadn’t even touched herself directly but she was already soaking wet, and it felt like every nerve in her core had just lit up hot with desire.

It was at that moment she suddenly realized Arthur was moving; slipping out from under her; and she tried to return her focus to him when she found herself dropping back to the cloth surface of the bedspread.

“Arthur-?”

Sally squeaked as a rubber-gloved hand grabbed hold of her ankle and yanked her forward, before it evolved into a soft, surprised **_oh_** as he kissed his way up along her thighs. He took his time soothing the marks with lips and tongue, a few prickling aftershocks flaring up on some of the more sensitive ones.

And then he was pulling her underwear down and off of her, discarding it to the side.

A hand flew into his dark hair as she felt him kiss her clit; felt his tongue slide languidly through her folds with a dexterity that shook her enough to elicit a curse and another moan out of her.

“Ohh-... _fucking hell-”_

If this was his way of making up for things after so many years, Sally definitely wasn’t complaining.

One of his hands slid up to the small of her back; the other braced on her hip; supporting her and keeping her upright as he busied himself between her legs.

Arthur didn’t know what instinct had seized on him to stop being the passive player in their game and take control so suddenly like this. But it had been so, _so_ worth it, whatever it was.

His tongue curled deeper inside her, seeking out more of that wetness she was dripping into his mouth and all over the sheets. He brushed a particular spot and he felt her spasm and let out a sudden whine; hooking her unrestrained leg over his shoulder to grind herself against his face.

Well. Now there was a fun reaction.

He shifted his grip on her, releasing her from where he’d had her pinned, and once her other leg was free, it *also* wrapped around his head. But being smothered he could handle - frankly if Arthur had to choose a way to go, this was how he wanted to do it. Asphyxiated by Sally’s leglock while she whimpered his name.

“Fuck, don’t stop, Arthur, _please.”_

...just like that, actually.

He did it again and not only did she shudder and squeeze him some more with another one of those *gorgeous* moans, but her grip went tighter on his hair; nails scratching against his scalp; and he actually groaned himself that time.

The muffled vibrations of the noises he made as he ate her out only pushed her higher and higher until Sally was pretty sure she was witnessing colors she usually only saw while under the influence of Rainbow. 

God, either it really *had* been a long time for her, or her other partners had been absolutely rubbish, or maybe it was both. She didn’t really have the ability to manage coherent thought right now. 

All she could really do was hold on and try to keep her composure - and she was doing a damn lousy job of that, all things considered; with every little shiver and gasp she made in time with the ministrations of his tongue.

When he splayed a hand on her stomach; his thumb pressed against her clit at the same time his tongue circled that little spot inside her, she went from teetering on the edge to feeling this sudden burst of white-hot energy in her core. Like a banger going off right in her belly as she hit her climax, and hit it _hard_. 

Her wordless cry rose high and sharp, and fuck, it was good, it was _so good_ as she writhed and practically flooded Arthur’s mouth with the taste of her as she came.

Unfortunately, the hand not gripping onto his hair was also still holding the shock baton. And her fingers clenched around it; accidentally cranking the power dial up while she was still in the throes. 

With an impressive crackle, sparks flew.

This time the one yelling however, was Arthur, and Sally’s eyes flew open in a panic as she realized what she must have done. Oh fuck, fuck, _fuck in a bucket,_ and it had been on high, too-

She immediately powered the baton down, detangling herself from him, not even pausing to catch her breath as she started looking him over worriedly.

“ _Arthur?!_ Oh my god, are you okay? I’m so sorry, I swear, it was an accident, does anything hurt?”

She turned him over onto his back. He was twitching, jaw tightly clenched and staring upwards in what seemed to be literal shock.

Whatever euphoria she’d been feeling vanished as Sally’s heart leapt into her throat. She could see an actual singe mark on the catsuit from where the baton had made contact; on his back and left shoulder, which trailed down until it petered out right below his left arm. The smell of burnt rubber and ozone was potently overwhelming anything else in the room.

Oh, there were few places worse she could have really gotten him, weren’t there? 

She grabbed her kit from beside the bed. She had sanitol syringes if he went into cardiac arrest; she always carried them with her after that one near-accident at Nick Lightbearer’s - when she had *told* him not to mix Phlash and Feramyle and he did anyway-...

...she needed to focus. Arthur. _Arthur._

Guilt and fear churned her guts as she frantically unzipped the catsuit; stripping it down to Arthur’s waist as she rested her palm on his bare chest to take stock of his heart rate. 

It was going about a mile a minute; beating fast under her touch, but nothing seemed to be irregular about it - no seizing, no skipping beats that she could tell. And his breathing was starting to even back out, which was a good sign. 

She checked him over for any other injuries or complications - seized up muscles or nervous tics that would be caused by the sudden overload of current. The rubber seemed to have done its job, thankfully; absorbing the worst of the electricity, so that there was only a light burning on his affected shoulder. Not much worse than the ones she had put on her own body. He might have a rough go of it sleeping on that side for a while, but…well, neither of them had been very good at that for years now, now had they. 

What with the nightmares and all.

_No. She couldn't lose someone else. She couldn't have him come visit her like Lizzie and Annie did, she couldn't have another ghost in her dreams. She just couldn't._

There didn’t seem to be any other injuries related to the shock, much to her relief - but Sally did see the other marks on him; healing ones both old and fresh, bruises and cuts from his run-ins with the feral citizens of the Garden District and the constabulary alike.

Her fingers trailed lightly over one particularly nasty-looking cut along his ribline and she tried to imagine the weapon that could have done it...did he get grazed by a bayonet from one of those ridiculous men in the Home Army? _What had he been doing on Ravensholm?_

Oh god, was HE the intruder that the General had been ranting about the other day who supposedly cut the power to the camp?

It was at that moment Arthur seemed to finally be regaining his senses; groaning a bit, and she rested a hand on his cheek then, turning him to meet her gaze.

“Hey, c’mon, Arthur, talk to me. Anything hurt?”

_“S...Sally…”_

“Sally, yeah, that’s right. You took a nasty zap from the baton. How are you feeling?”

“Mmph. Awful.” A beat. “...Do it again?”

There’s a shaky exhale that might have been a laugh under different circumstances when he gives her a weak little smirk, and she just patted his un-seared shoulder and smoothed his hair back.

“...maybe next time. I-...that-...you really need to get properly warmed up before you just jump into something like that.” 

And then she just dropped any attempt at trying to keep it together and pulled him suddenly into a hug, and she knew it was a little too tight from the way he winced, but she just leaned into him and buried her face in his neck.

“God, don’t you scare me like that again. Thought I’d really hurt you.”

“Not getting rid of me that easily, Salamander. Good effort, though.”

“You’re such an arse with that mouth of yours, aren’t you.”

“...didn’t hear any complaints about my mouth a few moments ago.”

Sally gave him a little smack on the arm at that, and he laughed, and she could feel it; the way it rumbled in his chest, and that warmth started to bubble back up inside her.

She thought she could listen to that forever.

They lapsed into quiet; neither one moving for several minutes, and Sally took the time to savor the sounds of his heartbeat and the softness of his breathing. 

For purely medical purposes, of course.

Until Sally felt one of Arthur’s hands sliding up the back of her neck to start playing with her hair.

“So...obviously, that didn’t kill me. But I don’t suppose that killed the mood entirely dead, did it?”

“I’m _stunned._ You’re still raring to go after all that?”

“Well I have you to thank for that in more ways than one, now don’t I?” Arthur turned to catch her lips in another kiss. “So what’s your medical advice, Dr. Boyle?”

“My *advice* would be that you shouldn’t do anything too strenuous and should get some rest to ensure you don’t hurt yourself worse than you have already.”

“Mm-hmm.” He moved to start trailing his way down her neck, dropping more kisses and little nips here and there that made a flush start to creep back into her face. “Sure I can’t get a second opinion on that?”

_"Arthur..."_

Sally bit her bottom lip, trying to remain firm with him, but it was like he knew exactly which spots to tease to make her resolve crumble.

"If you want to stop…" He mumbled it against her skin, right before he gave her a rough nip that was *absolutely* going to leave a visible mark tomorrow. "just say the word."

She could have. She _should_ have, for his own sake. But all she really did was make these little helpless whimpers as he lavished her with attention. 

"Mmh...mh…" She writhed in his grasp; her eyebrows furrowing a bit in frustration in more ways than one. Damn him, damn him and his stupid handsome face and his stupid charming tongue and-...

"...Please, Sally?"

And THAT, damn *that* in particular. That little edge that crept into his voice that made her think of a sad and needy puppy, at least back when those kinds of things still existed in Wellington Wells. The one that always transmuted her iron will right into gelatin.

God, fuck him.

"...Alright, _fine._ Fine. But if you drop over dead because your heart gave out, I *will* kill you, Hastings."

"Is that a promise?"

"It is a _*threat.*_ Now c'mere so I can get you out of the rest of that thing."

Impatient hands worked quickly and with purpose to get them both out of whatever garments they had left lingering on them. And while Sally liked to think she was an expert when it came to getting in and out of Reform Club gear, her bra still ended up hanging unhooked from a triumphant set of fingers before she’d even finished with the zipper on him. 

She snorted and smiled. "...hmph. Show-off. Bet I could be that fast if all I had to do was unfasten three little hooks too.”

“Oh, I’m *so* sorry, Sal, if you’d like it back-”

_“Later,_ Sparky.” 

The abrupt way they’d separated after the accidental electrocution had kept her from being able to really come down properly, and already that needy heat was back under her skin. A fever made all the more worse by the way every nerve was on a sensitive edge from the earlier climax and the work of the shock baton. 

Once she finally had him peeled out of the catsuit Sally pressed herself against him; skin to skin; kissing him fiercely as she tangled her fingers in his hair again to hold him into it. She could taste herself in it and if anything, that only thrilled her all the more. 

Arthur’s hands roamed over her, squeezing and grasping and sending thunderclaps down her spine with every touch before they found their way to her hips.

They broke for air and his eyes met hers as he shifted slightly, lining himself up with her.

“Ready?”

There was a nod.

_“Ready.”_

The sound Sally made as Arthur sank into her might have been the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard in his life; this breathless, drawn-out moan that practically kissed his ears.

He just went still - he wasn’t even sure if it was her or him that needed the adjustment - lost in savoring the way his cock was utterly overwhelmed by the tight, slick warmth of her. And then all too soon she was squirming fervently, wanting more, _needing_ more; rocking her hips against his.

It was all the encouragement he needed to start moving; rolling his hips as he lifted her up; nearly slipping out of her entirely before she’d drop back down, gravity meeting them both halfway to aid him in burying himself back inside her.

Arthur knew he’d...thought about this from time to time. Rougher nights when even Joy couldn’t drive out the nightmares about the train, even if the pills had managed to make him forget the significance of it. So his mind and hand had wandered to somewhere else to try and exhaust himself.

...god, did that make him a terrible person? It hadn’t happened... _often._ And he...he did feel guilty afterward most of the times it had.

_And then there were the times that you felt a different kind of guilt. Guilt not for fantasizing about her - though, I still wouldn’t tell her that you used to do that if you fancy ever getting shagged by her again._

But the odds of them ever seeing each other again had been astronomical. Or well, obviously, they HAD been, anyway.

_But about how you’d left things all those years ago. How many times did you wonder what might have happened if you’d run out the door after her? Even if it was just to demand an explanation?_

_Face it, the wank isn’t what put you to sleep during those nights. It was the *other* kind of fantasizing you did about you two; about you two being back_ **_together;_ ** _that did._

Never in a hundred, or maybe even a thousand years, would he have expected to be dealing with the real thing - the talented, gorgeous, and brilliant Sally Boyle; naked in his lap and moaning his name.

If it wasn’t for the light stinging in his shoulder grounding him and reminding him that this was real and not all warm and fuzzy technicolor, he’d almost be convinced this was just another Joy-induced fantasy.

And then that pain intensified as he gave a particularly rough thrust and Sally clawed at his back needily; her nails dragging new red lines across his shoulders as she clung to him. 

_“Oh god Arthur, that feels so good-”_

**_“Fuck-!”_ **

She slowed her movements when she realized that curse wasn’t nearly as turned on as hers was; the way he hissed it through his clenched teeth, and then she remembered the electrical burn that was still there.

“ _Oh-_ oh no, not again, I’m so sorry.” 

The pain was still lingering and he opened his mouth to try and reassure her that it wasn’t, but before he could her lips were on his, kissing him gently (he was going to be _covered_ in lipstick marks at this rate), her fingertips rubbing gingerly at the scratches she’d left behind to try and soothe them.

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t proving to be a very good distraction.

“I don’t mean to keep hurting you like this...” The guilt in her voice was contagious, as it also twisted in little knots in his chest.

“It’s alright, I know you don’t. Suppose the Downer lifestyle’s just...worn me down a bit and made me more fragile.”

“I mean, I don’t think you’re fragile. But if I’d known I was going to break you that easily...”

There’s a good-natured scoff. “Who says I’m broken? Just a little chip in the paint, that’s all. Easy enough fix.” 

And then he paused. 

“But...actually…if you want to try something a little less risky, at least to me _…_ ”

She pulled back to regard him curiously. “Oh?”

Arthur coaxed her slowly off his lap, despite the protest whine that rose up in her throat.

“I know, I know, but it’ll just take a moment. Now, turn around.”

Sally raised an eyebrow curiously but did as she was told, and then her breath caught as he suddenly wrapped an arm around her middle and tugged her against him to push himself back into her again.

Well, certainly she wasn’t at risk of scratching him anymore, because all she could grab onto now was the sweat-dampened sheets below them both, twisting them through her fingers as he started moving again. The new angle let him go deeper; pressing all the right spots inside her at once, and her head dropped back against his shoulder with a low, shaky moan.

Arthur knew he wouldn’t last too terribly long, at least not with how tightly she was squeezing around him and with all those incredible noises she kept letting out. But he was damned determined to try and send her over first if he could.

A hand slipped up her chest; palming at one of her breasts, the nipple stiffening under the pad of his thumb as he circled it teasingly. Sally’s eyes slipped closed and she chewed her bottom lip as she lost herself in the bliss of him fucking her.

The other hand closed around the handle of the shock baton, slowly dragging it back towards the two of them.

“Hey, Sally? You trust me, right?”

Those words muttered breathlessly into her ear, before she heard the baton fire up, caused her to shudder with anticipation.

_“...Yes.”_

Lightning struck, quite literally. She screamed as he touched it low to her stomach, just above where he was still moving in and out of her.

And then just as quickly he took it away; she didn’t even have to look at him to know it was because she had gotten him worried, and one of her hands clawed at his desperately, trying to make him put it back.

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I promise, just _god_ **_please_ ** _don’t stop-”_

“If-...if you’re sure-...”

He did it again and she felt herself go dizzy from the endorphin rush as she let out another impassioned scream. For someone who had been so worried about getting caught before, she was making absolutely *no* efforts to quiet herself now.

Not that it mattered anyway. Even if the Reform Club hadn’t known better than to pry into what its members got up to on its grounds; all Sally could manage to focus on was the shocks that seemed to resonate deep in her core; and riding Arthur for all he was worth.

And honestly, Arthur didn’t know how he was holding it together while she did. Every arc of electricity from the baton practically burned into his eyes; it was like having a camera flashbulb fire off in your face, again and again and again. And every time he touched it to her, she would cry out and seize around him; practically gushing around his cock, and it would make his thrusts stutter and lose their rhythm.

...was this what a religious experience felt like? He’d never exactly been the most devout person - despite an admirable effort on the part of the village vicar in his youth to try - but he was pretty sure this was as close to heaven as he was ever going to get. 

_“God, fuck, fucking_ **_fuck!_ ** _”_

And not just because Sally kept shrieking for the lord like that every time she got a fresh jolt, though that certainly helped.

Everything was warmth and light and her hand was resting on his in that way that sent goosebumps crawling up his skin, and it was all just overwhelmingly, incredibly, _good._ **_So good._ **

The Germans could come rolling back through Wellington Wells, right this very second, and bomb the absolute shit out of them until there was nothing left but rubble and ashes, and Arthur was pretty sure he wouldn’t have noticed or even cared.

Joy couldn’t even remotely compete. Honestly he couldn’t believe he once thought it could.

All too soon though, came that tight pressure at the base of his spine; the dull cotton-wool stuffed feeling in his ears; his warnings that he was close to his own climax.

“Ss-...Sally-” Arthur faltered, his cock giving a needy throb inside her as he instinctively tried to slow down.

Which she definitely didn’t take too kindly to, as her voice hitched up in a desperate whimper and she ground herself down on him to try and encourage him to continue.

“Dammit, I’m * _so*_ close, god, don’t stop _now-”_

“But Sally, I’m-”

Before he could even finish his sentence Sally turned her head to kiss him, surprisingly soft. Her face was flushed and those stormy grey eyes of hers practically sparkled in the dim light and Arthur felt his breath catch in his throat. The way she looked at him, longing, almost-...almost-...

_Loving._

Maybe his heart really had stopped, after all.

“Please, Arthur. I need you.”

...Shit. She had to say it like that, didn’t she.

He swallowed roughly but he nodded; flicking the baton up to its highest setting as he began to move again.

The glowing head of it made contact right as he gave one last, jerky thrust, and her cry matched his own that time as they both went tense.

“Bloody hell- oh, _bloody hell-!”_

“Fuck-! _Arthur!”_

Everything just sort of went hot and white in an instant and Sally was sure that last shock had triggered a fire somehow, setting her and the room ablaze. 

Maybe none of this had been real. Maybe when Spud had broken into her lab those weeks ago, the fire really had gone out of control, and all of this was just one final firing of brain cells before she succumbed to the flame and fumes.

Would it being a fake memory make it better, or worse?

But of course there was no fire. Not really. Just a deep, sated warmth as cum dripped down her marked-up thighs, as she leaned back into the solid form of the trembling man still clinging to her from behind.

The shock baton finally fizzled out and powered down for the last time; before it just sort of slipped from Arthur’s hand and dropped to the floor with a metallic clanging.

Once more, the two of them didn’t move for a while. Didn’t say anything - not that they could, given they were *both* wheezing like they’d each run the length from Barrow Holm to The Parade and back again.

Soon as she had caught her breath back, though, the kiss Sally gave Arthur was long and grateful, and one of her hands found his and laced their fingers together.

He smiled, giving her hand a squeeze before brushing some of her damp hair back from her forehead. “...good?”

She kissed him again, mumbling. “Absolutely fantastic…”

Now that she was coming down the aches and exhaustion from their tryst were finally starting to settle into her bones, and she caught the way that Arthur tried - and failed - to hide his wince as he shifted and tried to get more comfortable.

“I’ve got something in my kit for…” She gestures between them both. “Well, all of this. It’ll make things feel better. Want me to get it?”

“Don’t want to impose, but that’d be lovely, actually.”

Sally reluctantly released his hand and slipped out of his lap to lean off the edge of the bed, retrieving her case and popping it open to grab some jars out of it.

“Medicated balm. The real stuff. Not...you know.”

“...mashed up Rose of Gilead? Wait, you _noticed_ that?”

“Bit hard not to, Sparky, the smell’s pretty... _unique._ Now turn around, I want to get another look at that shoulder, anyway.”

He turned and Sally could see her handiwork again; the angry red patch from the electrical burn, and the more vivid scratch marks she’d dragged down his skin. The latter of which made a strange little ripple of pride go through her.

_Mine, all mine._

There was an initial hiss of pain and he flinched as she started dabbing the mixture on, but he settled soon enough as the balm did its job.

“...ohhh. That’s a lot better…”

“And it doesn’t reek to high heaven, either.” 

“Always a plus.”

She decided to doctor a few of his other injuries while she was at it, like that bayonet cut. It was unlikely he’d accept the help if she offered it, so, opportunity knocking while she had him here and all that. The last thing he needed was to catch tetanus, or worse.

Once he was done, she set about taking care of herself. Arthur gestured at the jar.

“Need any help?”

Sally paused, and then smiled; passing it over to him as she shifted a little to let him have better access to her. 

“...well, aren’t you the gentleman, Hastings.”

“Ah, well. I figure it’s the least I can do after...you know, all that.”

His touch was incredibly gentle as his fingers dipped down over the marks on her stomach. And if she didn’t know the baton was lying on the floor, she’d almost swear she was getting shocked again with the way her nerves buzzed and raised goosebumps in response. 

“God, some of these look like they’ll scar...you’re sure you’re okay?”

“More than, believe me. Takes a lot more than a little shock truncheon to put Sally Boyle down. Besides, that’s the whole point of doing this kind of thing properly with the right equipment and care, if you do, it shouldn’t scar at all.”

“What about these, then? They look like they hurt.”

“What?” Confusion furrowed her brow and she looked down at herself to see what on earth Arthur could be referring to. Did something go wrong? To Sally’s knowledge, she’d never gotten scarred with one of the batons before - not for Anton’s lack of trying to convince her that they should.

_Just another one of the *many* reasons why that man was no good for you._

She follows his gesture to where he was pointing to one of several lightning-like marks on her stomach, which only made her even more confused. Those weren’t scars, they were stretch marks, why would he-

Oh. Oh Jesus, of course he wouldn’t know about those. 

_He couldn’t know about how she actually got those._

She quickly covered it up with an awkward, fake laugh.

“...ah. Right. Those. What, um...what can I say, I learned about why you don’t use the same batons the bobbies use the um. Hard way.”

Sally averted her gaze quickly, and the look of pain was genuine that time as concern came over his own face. She *really* didn’t want to lie to him, but what else could she do? He couldn’t find out about Gwen...no one could.

What if he told the bobbies or the doctors? What if he hurt her like Spud had tried to do?

_Or the worst outcome...what if he just gets jealous and leaves you again?_

No. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.

For both their sakes.

The balm seeped cool into the heated burn marks and took away any lingering soreness, and she sighed contentedly as she relaxed.

“...thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Uh, for what?”

“For...I don’t know. The healing? Tonight? Everything? I’ll go with everything.”

And now that all was said and done, a heavy sort of weight had settled over both of them, the unspoken question about what to do next.

Sally couldn’t bear it, the thick dread and hope sitting in her chest at opposite ends of a scale, so she decided to rip the bandage off herself.

“So. You going to grab Hickenbotham’s ID and just...head out now, then?”

“S’pose I could.” Arthur looked over at the door, then back to her. “Provided he hasn’t gone for another session with _Madame Wanda,_ anyway.”

“Didn’t you hear how loud he was snoring out there? He’s not fit to do much of anything, he’s gonna be out of it for a while. But you could always check his locker in the dressing room. It’s the one in the back corner, out of sight of the window…”

His eyes narrowed slightly at that. “Hold on...did...did you see me-?”

“Don’t be silly, I have no idea what you’re talking about, Arthur. Even if I did, I certainly didn’t see any particularly handsome Downers breaking into the Reform Club.”

She laughed as he rolled his eyes.

“...yeah, you really ought to work on your stealthy entrances.”

“Message received, _thank you._ But what about you?”

“...What about me?”

“I mean, you got what you wanted, right…?” 

He quickly realized how that must have sounded, because he continued on hastily. 

“I, I mean- what you came here for tonight, you uh, you got that. Even if getting it from me was just…”

“...a happy accident?”

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

_Great save there, Arthur. Smooth as bloody sandpaper._

“Are you saying you didn’t enjoy it?”

“Wh- no-! No, I swear, that’s not it at all! Just-”

Arthur steepled his fingers together, taking a breath to compose his thoughts. “...fuck’s sake. Okay, let me go again. What I mean to ask is, are you just going to leave too?”

“I mean...I could.”

_And you should. You got what you needed. And now you need to get home. Back to your responsibilities._

And she knew she should. She should get up, say her goodbyes, get dressed and walk out that door.

But in these troubling times, any goodbye could be their last. Could she really be faulted for wanting this to go on, just a tiny bit longer?

“I get the feeling there’s a ‘but’ attached to that.”

“Clever clogs, aren’t you? But...it *is* after curfew. And I’d hate to think of Wellington Wells’ most infamous Downer getting in trouble without me around to help him out.”

“Hey! Now, I think I’ve managed pretty well by myself so far-”

Sally rolled her eyes and hushed his complaint with a kiss.

All thoughts just flew right out of Arthur’s head like a startled flurry of butterflies.

“...and _maybe_ I think he should take a break for his own sake before he goes gallivanting off again. I mean when’s the last time you slept on a proper bed?”

“It...has been a while, I won’t lie…I’m not exactly living in the lap of luxury these days...”

“Exactly. Please, stay?”

_With me._

“For me?”

Arthur scrutinized her for several long moments, before he sighed, obviously caving in.

“...alright. But just for a little bit. I’ve still got to snag the constable’s ID and get out of here before I get caught doing either.”

“‘Course.”

She watched him remove his glasses; setting them on an end table before he moved to the head of the bed, turning the blankets down to slip beneath them, and then he regarded her where she was still sitting with a raised eyebrow.

“...what?”

“Are you coming or not, Salamander?”

She tried to contain the giddiness that welled up suddenly in her as she practically scurried her way over and under the sheets with him. 

Truth be told, she had been planning to stay up; keep an eye on him to make sure there weren’t any complications from the electrical shock. Curl up next to him after he would have inevitably fallen asleep.

...Was that a bit creepy? She tried not to think about it. But she didn’t want to overstep the boundaries she was sure were still buried there.

This was only one night, after all. One night didn’t make up for over a decade of...stuff.

But getting a direct invite almost felt better than even the sex had.

Arthur blinked, a bit surprised by how eagerly she joined him, but he just made sure she had enough room as they both got comfortable. 

They hadn’t done this in a long time. He remembered how much better he used to sleep when Sally was there. Even when he had his nightmares, she’d been the one there to comfort him.

He missed it.

_But she has her own life here. A good life that doesn’t involve hiding from the authorities or anyone else who notices you’re not on Joy, trying to escape to god only knows where beyond the bridge. Can you really ask her to uproot all that for you?_

An arm slipped around her waist to hold her against him as he yawned, and she buried her face in his chest; nuzzling him a little.

“Night, Arthur.”

“G’night, Sally.”

He was out before he heard the second part.

_“Love you.”_

= o = o = o = o = o = o =

Sally regarded herself in the mirror in the corner of the room; adjusting her dress and helmet and making sure she had everything else she’d brought with her.

On the nightstand, a keycard and a set of ID papers that denoted someone as being part of the Lud’s Holm ‘Beautification Committee’ sat next to one of her special rocket-shaped pill bottles, Arthur’s glasses, and a note.

_Sparky -_

_Sorry for ducking you. Had to get back to the lab._

_Left you a little present to make up for it, though. Consider it a thank you for last night._

_The pills are Sunshine. Fake Joy, basically. It'll trick all but the Doctors. Figured it'd make your getting out of here a little bit easier._

_Look me back up sometime, if you’re ever in St. George’s Holm. Be nice to catch up on the old days together again._

- _Salamander <3 _

She hadn’t even had to pick the lock. Hickenbotham had left it open. God, no wonder the force could barely stand him, with sloppy work like that.

‘Course, the letter she found too, addressed to Madame Wanda...well. Maybe he had his reasons for being sloppy.

It was definitely getting worse than she’d thought, if even the bobbies were starting to have recall. And it wasn’t like they could swap to another flavor to stave it off. Blackberry was a one-way street. It’s why she never took it herself.

But she could worry about that at home.

Once she made sure her kit and everything else was packed up she cast one last look back at where Arthur still lay sleeping. 

He was curled around the pillow that had replaced her; hair a mess; snoring fit to wake the dead, but...well, if you asked her, that just added to the charm.

She smiled fondly, and then she crept out of the room; shutting the door with its _'O_ _ut of Order'_ sign quietly behind her.

The Reform Club had calmed down quite a bit as she headed downstairs for the door. Most patrons by now had either passed out or gone home.

As she stepped onto the painted cobblestone outside, she regarded the sky. 

Dawn was still a ways off, but it was definitely coming soon; the sky turning a light gray with mists curling around at the street level.

In the distance, a Jubilator’s eerie music echoed. 

She wondered who had died tonight.

Even though the bobbies were supposed to be on full patrol, several avenues were just straight up deserted as she walked down them. 

...Sally wasn’t sure if that honestly made things better or worse.

Still, she made her way back home to the Interplanetary Travel Agency in just an hour or two, with no complications. She was looking rough, and still exhausted, but feeling far better than she had in a long while. 

Her mind was clearer, calmer, as she walked into the lab. She was already considering new supply sources for her Blackberry recipe; which would mean a trip to the Garden District of course. Maybe swinging by and checking in with the Sisters…

But first she had to check in on someone else.

Upstairs, Gwen made excitable babbling noises as soon as Sally’s face peered over the edge of her crib, and she split into a wide smile as she was overwhelmed with love for the little red-haired girl.

“Hello, sweetheart...did you miss Mummy? I know you did.”

She lifted Gwen out, looking her over, making sure she was okay. She’d somehow managed to un-swaddle herself and was kicking her little arms and legs, and she needed a change, which Sally set about doing right away, and it looked like the automatic feeder needed a top off...

As she went through all the usual motions of motherhood, she wondered. What would she have done without Lionel Castershire’s gadgets, honestly?

...Well, besides feel like an utterly rubbish mum more than she did already, of course. 

But much as she hated leaving Gwen alone, she knew it was a necessary evil. Without the feeder and the like, Sally’s scope would be severely limited - and not just for personal things like the brief respite in the Reform Club. How else would she have been able to get supplies for her clients, to keep them from sniffing around here? How would she be able to provide for Gwen? Nappies and tinned milk didn’t exactly grow on trees.

Annnnd there she went, working herself up into an anxious tizzy again. God, but she needed to get out of this town. It didn’t matter where. Anywhere at this point was surely better than here.

But for now she had Gwen. She had her daughter, and that was all that mattered.

Once Gwen was changed and cozied up in Sally’s arms, she sighed and sat down on the edge of her own zebra-patterned bed, rocking her gently as she rambled to her like she so often did.

“Oh, Mummy’s so tired, Gwen. But in a good way, for once, not from wandering ‘round places she shouldn’t be, for terrible people she never should have started working for. You’d never believe who I ran into while I was out last night.”

This was of course responded to with a wrinkle of a nose and nonsense babbling, and she laughed gently before pressing a kiss to Gwen’s forehead.

“...yes, you’re right. It’s all grown-up business what I got up to with Arthur, nothing I should be telling you-”

And that’s when she froze, slammed with a sudden dawning horror.

Arthur was a Downer now. Which meant he wasn’t on Joy anymore. Which meant neither one of them was.

Her gaze drifted down to Gwen.

The exact same circumstances that had led...to…

“...about. _Oh, fuck in a bucket.”_

**Author's Note:**

> ...whoops. Hey listen, it's probably fine, right? ;)
> 
> Anyway! For those of you who waited the over a week and a half it took me to write this, I salute you for your patience. Someday, HOPEFULLY, I'm going to be able to write a one-shot under 10k words. Today is not that day, very fucking obviously.
> 
> Anyway, time for some editor notes! 
> 
> Re: Linguistics - I just want to say, I tried *very* hard to stick to British colloquialisms and speech as best as I could (which is why every time I wrote out gray I ended up having to go back and goddamn change it). However, I am as wretchedly American as they come so I am sure I made some mistakes. If you have any feedback on how to improve that for the future, let me know.
> 
> Re: The Sparky nickname - So, this is a headcanon, obviously, and I mulled around actually introducing it in this fic before I decided to go for it, since...well, electricity puns, honestly. But this whole idea was based on the fact that, besides the graffiti on the Wedding Party stones in the Parade (the "Sparky <3s Salamander" one), the only other mentions of a "Sparky" in the games (at least that I could find, PM me if you know better!) was a note near Nick Lightbearer's place during the Sympathy For The Lightbearer/Church Of Simon Says quests, AND, the name of Arthur's pet gecko as listed on his death screen in the newspaper article that pops up about him. Now, I highly doubt that Sally would be close enough with a random NPC to warrant the graffiti, and given how Joy fucks with your mind, it wouldn't surprise me if Arthur either left the graffiti back in the day and/or named his pet after his old childhood nickname without initially remembering the significance of it. I'm actually kinda debating exploring that concept further in future fics, in fact. (Plus it's just plain cute, and frankly I think we all need some fluff aFTER COMPULSION LEFT ME WITH AN UNSATISFYING ENDING TO THEIR STORY.)
> 
> Re: My other fics - If you're one of the people who followed me for my Overwatch fics, I just want to say, I am *very* sorry, I don't want you to think I abandoned them for a shiny new toy. But every time I try to rekindle my love for the characters and OW's story (like anytime they give us a lore update - seriously, the Zenyatta and Symmetra story they put out recently made me cry because it was so good), I play the game.  
> Unfortunately, the utter shitshow of its balance and community, what with the focuses on competitive and the OWL playerbase and whatnot; it turns me off from it and any kind of extended interaction with it. And the kind of game I *want* to play (OW2) that would be more lore and casual/PvE-focused clearly isn't going to be released anytime soon from the looks of things from Blizzard. Which causes this negative feedback loop of "New Overwatch content rekindles my interest in game -> I go to play game because of rekindled interest -> I am immediately reminded why I stopped playing the game -> interest immediately gets snuffed back out." So consider "I Want To Kill You" and related stories on a hiatus until such a time as I can come to grips with that. Believe me, I don't like it anymore than you do and I, too, miss having everyone's favorite Irish geneticist doing terrible things to people for science and fun. I'm trying to find a way to reconcile this, actively.
> 
> Now, if you're one of the four and a half people who followed me for my Fallout story (you know who you are) and are still waiting for an update two years in, well that one can be blamed on the pandemic and the nightmarish living situation it's put us all in. It's also not forgotten, I just need reality to stop being the way it is for FIVE FUCKING MINUTES so I can get my headspace together.
> 
> ...there's also some issues regarding trying to do the art for the fic, because I'm like 99% sure my tablet will not work with this PC anymore, and I haven't quite figured out what I'm going to do if that's the case.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the story, 'cause I don't think I'm leaving this fixation train anytime soon.


End file.
